


Nowhere to Be Found

by anr



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-18
Updated: 2009-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She takes her time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere to Be Found

**Author's Note:**

> Latin translations in mouseover.
> 
> Request: an epidemic occurs.

She drifts.

It's easier that way.

  


* * *

  


_New flu: WHO reports canine flu is 'nothing to worry about'_ \-- Canada (Reuters)

  


* * *

  


Her mother dies the same day.

She doesn't remember much else that week.

  


* * *

  


_Ireland's canine flu death toll rises to 14_ \-- London (AFP)

  


* * *

  


Galveston is hot and dry, the skies a deep, cloudless blue. She finds a pair of sunglasses on the boardwalk, a scratch across one lens, and slips them on as she walks along the seawall, scuffing her feet and staring out into the waves. On the beach below her, seagulls flock around the remains of a family, forever sunbaking.

When she gets to the end, she turns around and starts back again, slowly.

She takes her time. She has plenty of it.

  


* * *

  


_Canine flu fatalities climb in Argentina_ \-- Rio De Janiero (AP)

  


* * *

  


He finds her in the hospital, sitting at her desk, shrouded stretchers lined up outside her doors. The sound his cane makes, glancing off the bedsides, reaches her long before he does.

"I'm busy," she says, without looking up.

"I'm busy," she says, when he doesn't say anything.

"I'm busy," she says, again.

His hand touches her shoulder, and she jumps. "Lisa --"

She shrugs him away. "Meus filia est mortuus, House." She opens the file on her desk, writes _H3N8 influenza_ in the field titled 'Cause of Death', and closes it again. Her voice breaks. "I'm busy."

  


* * *

  


_China reports canine flu deaths surpass 2,000_ \-- Beijing (AP)

  


* * *

  


Most of the liquor stores are empty, an unexpected prohibition in effect, but she manages to find a bottle of single malt in the librarian's desk at the Rosenberg Library. As she walks through the streets and boardwalks, she sees fleeting shadows here and there, but nobody approaches her and she doesn't call out after them.

Back at the seawall, she finds her way to the Balinese Room debris and sits on the sand, downwind from the corpses she'd seen the day before. There are clouds on the horizon now, thick and grey, and she wonders absently how long it will take for the storm to reach the shore, or if it's even coming this way.

"Next thing I know, you'll be throwing dice," he says, and she startles, dropping the bottle.

" _Shit!_ " The whiskey seeps into the sand too quickly for her to stop it. She glares as he sinks down beside her, one hand massaging his thigh. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Missed the girls." He eyes her high-necked shirt disapprovingly. "Looks like I'm still missing them."

"Go away, House," she says. "I don't want you here."

He shrugs. "Shouldn't keep inviting me along for the ride then."

  


* * *

  


_Canine flu cases pass 10,000 in Australia_ \-- Sydney (Reuters)

  


* * *

  


Chase calls her from Australia, his voice almost unrecognisable. "Cameron died this morning," he says. "I'm sending her home." He hangs up before she has a chance to ask if he's coming with her.

Foreman finds her in the emergency room, assisting with triage. "Remy and I are leaving," he says. He doesn't explain any further and, when he sneezes, she doesn't bother to ask.

Taub simply stops showing up to work. It's a week before she notices.

  


* * *

  


_Europe quarantined: fatality rate increasing exponentially_ \-- Geneva (Reuters)

  


* * *

  


"Definition of insanity --" he says, as they walk along the beach.

"House."

"True. Also -- repeating the same behaviour, over and over, expecting different results."

She stops to pick up a piece of shell, its edges worn smooth by the sand and waves. "Spare me the 'everybody lies, everybody dies, green eggs and pie' speech."

He ignores her. "It doesn't matter how many cities you visit on this road trip of mors mortis, Lisa. Geography didn't save you, genetics did." A wave comes in, the water eddying around his feet and wetting the bottoms of his jeans.

"I'm not looking to die." When she looks behind them, only her footprints are still visible in the wet sand.

"Lie." Turning away from her, he starts walking into the ocean. "You're looking for death, all right. You just won't find it the way everyone else did."

  


* * *

  


_Death toll worldwide eclipses 10,000,000_ \-- New York (AP)

  


* * *

  


Wilson is at House's, his bedroom littered with equipment from her hospital. She checks his IV instinctively when she walks in, her fingers finding the inside of his wrist as she leans down to kiss his forehead.

"You're too warm," she says mildly, adjusting the covers, and he smiles at her so sweetly her own breath catches. He doesn't say anything when she looks away and moves to sit on the other side of the bed.

House watches them both from across the room, his cane twirling slowly, slowly, slowly.

Taking Wilson's hand, she curls his fingers around her palm. "Do you need something to help you sleep?"

He shakes his head.

The room is full of echoes -- the rasp of Wilson's breath, the soft slap of the cane meeting House's palm, the slick flap of magazine pages as she reads, the hum of the monitors -- each more numbing than the previous.

Wilson wakes a little before noon, blinking at her like he can't quite work out why they're here. "Water," he manages, and she reaches for the glass already waiting on the bedside table. She has to support his head as he sips; he smiles at her again when he's finished.

"Harpoon," says House dryly, and she has no idea what that means.

"I don't understand," she says, and Wilson starts to laugh, softly at first, then harder, harder, breaths choking, like that's the funniest thing he's ever heard in his life.

He dies a little after noon, still smiling. He's the only one.

  


* * *

  


_Bitch bug bites a billion_ \-- Los Angeles (AP)

  


* * *

  


"You're not coming with me," she says. "Not this time."

He throws his cane into the trunk of her car and walks towards the front. "I'm driving."

She snaps, just a little more, another piece of her breaking off and drifting away. "You're _dead_ , you idiot. Hallucinations -- even hallucinations of doctors who _stupidly_ inject themselves with a virus just to prove a goddamned diagnosis -- can _not_ drive."

He shrugs and keeps walking, rounding the nose of the car until he's at the passenger side door. "Okay, you drive then."

Thunder rolls across the waves, reminding her that it's time to leave. She walks to the driver's side and stares at him through the open window.

"Next time I stop," she says, "I'm exorcising your ass."

He smirks. "I love it when you talk dirty." He watches her get into the car. "So does my ass."

  


* * *

  


_End of the world: 6 billion dying or dead_ \-- France (AFP)

  


* * *

  


She can't go home, or to the hospital, or even stay at his place. Not now. Maybe not ever again. Heading to the cemetery, she finds his grave, unmarked and unadorned -- the marker she ordered will never arrive now.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"I'm leaving," she says.

She doesn't know what else to say.

When she looks up, he smiles at her, the way she always wanted him to.

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/356737.html>


End file.
